Remember Me
by Emlizanne
Summary: COMPLETEwith>150reviews!(repost) Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny are four friends with a special bond. But when tragedy strikes, two of their number are torn away: one Cursed, one fled without a trace. Then one day, out of the blue, the deserter returns...
1. Coming Home

**A/N: ** Hey there.  Yes, I have posted this story before, and this version is fundamentally the same, but since then I've made a few small revisions, and fixed some mistakes that were irritating me.  I think it flows a little better now.  Chapter 9 is just made up of the reviews I received for the original, which I couldn't bear to see deleted.  It was an awesome story to write, so I hope you all enjoy it.  ~Emlizanne.

P.S.  The usual disclaimers apply: the characters aren't mine, they're JKR's, and if I were making money from this I'd have quit my day job long ago. : )

P.P.S  No fan fic story is complete without the plea to read and review.  I tried establish some pride and post this without the pitiful begging, but something just seemed to be missing.  So please take it as a given that I've done the whole begging on hands and knees thing, and review out of pity if nothing else. ; )  See you.

'Remember Me' I 

**Coming Home**

"Ginny."

Virginia Weasley's head snapped up, the blood draining from her face.  

The voice had come from behind her, but she couldn't bring herself to turn around.  She didn't have to.  It didn't matter that she hadn't heard his voice in two years – she knew exactly who it was.

She couldn't seem to move or speak.

"Ginny…?"  He spoke her name again, a little more uncertainly this time.

Suddenly she felt anger flare, and the heat helped to melt the numbness that had gripped her.  He damn well should be uncertain!  Two years, it had been now!  How dare he just go off and leave her?  Leave all of them?  Without a single goodbye, no explanation, just one pathetic note to say 'I'm safe, don't worry about me'…  Don't _worry!?_

With her fists clenched at her sides, she took a deep breath and spun to face him.

He read her expression instantly, and at least had the decency to look guilty.

"Hey, Gin," he said, a strange half-smile quirking the corner of his mouth, "I thought it was you.  You've grown."  

He spoke much more softly that she remembered him speaking, and he seemed both older and paler, the skin drawn more tightly over the bones of his face.  All at once a wave of aching pity welled inside her.  She had missed him so much…  But she fought the feelings down again, reminding herself of her own pain at the way he had treated her.  The way he had treated all of them.

So, She thought incredulously, fanning her own anger, That's it, is it?  After two years, and all that's happened, that's all he can say to me?

"Yes, it's me."  She was astonished by the steady coolness of her tone.  She had expected her voice to tremble and break, the way her heart was trembling and breaking somewhere inside, buried deep beneath the anger and pain which had been accumulating for so long now.

He couldn't miss the chill in her words, and seemed to wince slightly.  "Ginny, I know you're angry with me, and I probably deserve it, but - "

"Probably?" Ginny interrupted, her voice laced with bitter sarcasm, "I don't know about probably.  You only disappeared without a trace for _two years_.  Perfectly understandable.  I can't _imagine_ why you think I'd be _angry_ with you."  

She was so furious she was shaking.  She took a step forward and pushed him hard in the chest.  Her voice was no longer steady as she ground out, "Do you have any _idea_ what we've been _through_?  Do you?  Damn you, I've been tearing myself _apart_ with worry!  We didn't know if you were alive or if you were – if you were – oh – just - "  

Overcome with frustration and conflicting emotions, she gave into her two strongest instincts.  Without giving any warning, she punched him hard in the stomach, then with a muffled sob, threw her arms around his neck and clung to him like she was never going to let go.

Her punch winded him, and the hug startled him.  But his expression of surprise faded quickly, and was replaced by a small smile that dawned slowly into a grin, altering his originally sombre expression beyond recognition.  He put his arms around her, closed his eyes, and returned her hug fiercely.

"It's good to be back, Gin," he told her softly.

Ginny stepped back to look into his face.

"You just can't know how good it is to see you again," she whispered.  "You know, I just couldn't bear it if you…  I mean, after what happened to Harry - " her voice was still unsteady, and when she spoke Harry's name it threatened to break up entirely.

"Shh, I know.  I know."  He hesitated, then asked, "How is he, Ginny?"

She shrugged and turned her face away.  "Much the same as when you left," she told him shakily.  "Sometimes when I visit he calls me by my name, but I think it's just co-incidence.  I can't delude myself anymore that he actually recognises me.  He doesn't recognise anyone.  It's so awful, Ron.  Every morning I wonder how I'm going to make it through the day.  Sometimes I barely do."  

She turned back to him, the pain in her eyes masked by anger again.  "And it didn't bloody help that we lost you as well, not even a day after the Curse was placed.  I know it was hard, Ron, but it was hard for all of us!  I can't believe you left us… left _him_.  What if he'd woken up?"

Ron's face hardened abruptly.  "People don't just 'wake up' from a total Obliviate Curse, Ginny.  Hovering by his bedside and just _hoping_ wasn't going to help.  And if I had spent just one more minute in that damn hospital corridor I know I would have lost my mind." 

"So you ran away, instead!"

He winced visibly.  "No!  I didn't run away, Gin, I -  Look never mind.  I'll explain everything.  Just… later, OK?  When everyone's together.  How is everyone Gin?  Mum, Dad, the twins?  Bill and Charlie?  Percy?  They're all well?"

"I – they're as well as can be expected," Ginny answered carefully.  Her anger had subsided, but her voice still felt choked by the tears that threatened to spill over at any moment.  She met his gaze seriously.  "You really did hurt people when you left so suddenly, you know."

Again, that brief flash of pain.  "Yeah.  Yeah I know.  But I didn't have a choice, Gin.  It was something I had to do."  

His expression cleared a little, and his tone strengthened.  "But I'm back now, and there's a lot I want to do.  The very first thing, the thing I want more than anything else in the world right at this moment, is just to see our family again."  

He held out his hand to her.  "Stand by me, Gin?"  He asked.  

Ginny smiled a slightly watery smile, and took her brother's hand in her own.

"OK Ron," she said quietly, "Let's go home."


	2. The Slytherin's Revenge

II The Slytherin's Revenge 

Hermione Granger Apparated with a soft 'pop' on the lawn of the Weasley's overgrown front garden.  In an almost unconscious gesture, she reached up and smoothed down her recalcitrant hair, tucking stray ends behind her ears.

She turned to look up at the tumbledown little cottage, and a bittersweet smile touched her lips.  She had always loved this house, and all its eccentric inhabitants. 

She began to walk up the garden path toward the front door, taking her time as she reflected on the weird and wonderful Weasleys.

They had become like a second family to her over the past few years.  The irony of that being that once upon a time she had dreamed that she would be part of their family in a very real sense.  Now there seemed little likelihood of that, and instead of being bound to them by love, she was bound by sadness.  By the grief of their mutual losses.

Losing Harry to an Obliviate course mere hours after Voldemort's defeat had been unbearable.  But losing Ron as well…  Hermione bit her lip and blinked hard against rising tears.  

For Heaven's sake, it had been two years, and still she couldn't fight down this constant, debilitating pain.  _Why?  Why did he leave us?  Why did he leave me alone?_

She wished she could remember the day of Voldemort's attack more clearly.  Perhaps then this would all make more sense.  But as things were, all she could recollect was confusion and panic… and Harry, standing in the midst of it all, his body still and his expression hardened with resolution.

She had opened her mouth, wanting to tell him he had to move, wanting to demand that he flee with everyone else.  But the words wouldn't come.  She knew he would never heed them anyway.  And looking at his face, she knew what he was planning to do.

She wasn't aware that Ron had moved to stand beside her until he spoke, his voice hard.  "He can't do this alone."

Hermione turned to look up at him.  "What can we do?" She whispered.

Ron's expression didn't change as he looked down to meet her gaze.  "We'll do what we've always done," he said sombrely, "We'll stick together.  And we'll be there for him."

Hermione could not remember loving any one the way she had loved Ron at that moment.  Unable to speak, she slipped her hand into his and squeezed.

He seemed to understand.

By that time the halls of Hogwarts had cleared entirely, and only the three of them were left standing in the eerie silence.

Harry didn't even seem to have noticed them there.  He was completely focused on the doorway at the end of the room they stood in.

Suddenly he grimaced and raised one hand press it over his scar.  With his other hand, he levelled his wand.

Something evil was coming.

Hermione gripped her wand and tightened her grasp on Ron's hand.  The knowledge that she was probably about to die almost overwhelmed her with fear.  But somewhere deep inside, she knew that she was where she was meant to be.  She could never have left to cower in a corner, knowing that Harry was facing this alone.  Ron was right.  They had to be there for one another.  Now and always.

At that moment the door slammed open and Ron and Hermione both jumped.  Harry barely flinched.

Three people entered the room, black robes billowing behind them.

One of them was Voldemort, the Dark Lord himself.

Another was Lucius Malfoy, his thin face already twisted in gleeful triumph as he faced them.

And the third was Severus Snape, his dark, closed face registering no expression whatsoever.

After that, Hermione's memories were fragmented, unclear.  There was talking, then shouting.  There were flashes of light, and angry Curses deflected by counter Curses, then a strange silver-blue glow that seemed to stream from Harry's wand.  Suddenly the air was full of … animals.  Ghostly shapes of animals.  Hermione didn't understand.  She was shouting Curses of her own, and struggling to deflect them as they flew toward her from all directions.

A bolt of power caught her in the side of the head, and she swayed.  She remembered Ron calling her name.  Then there was nothing but darkness.

When she opened her eyes, the room was quiet, and she was still lying on the cold stone floor.  Ron's stricken face hovered above hers.  When he saw her awake, his relief was tangible.

"Is Harry - ?"

"He's OK," Ron told her softly, reaching down to touch her cheek in a gesture of uncharacteristic tenderness. "Everything's OK now."

She struggled into a sitting position, and her head throbbed as she turned her head to look around.  Two figures were sprawled on the far side of the room, unmoving.  A third shape on the ground looked like a pile of discarded robes - Voldemort had vanished completely.

"Professor Snape – is he -?"

Ron nodded, his face reflecting confusion.  "Yeah, he's dead.  It wasn't us though.  When the fighting started he aimed his Curses at Voldemort and Malfoy.  He fought on our side.  Malfoy realised and … killed him.  I don't understand it.  I never thought Snape would…  That he was…"

A wave of regretful sadness passed over Hermione.  "Dumbledore was right to trust him, then," she said softly.  "We were fools not to realise what Dumbledore's judgement was worth."

She turned her head to look for Harry.  He was slumped against the wall, his head down and his black hair hanging in his face.  She could not discern his expression.

Wanting to go to him, she forced herself to stand.  Ron held her arm and steadied her.  She gave him a wan smile of thanks.

And that was the moment when the door slammed for a second time, and someone else entered the room.

It was Draco Malfoy.

But it was not Draco as they were used to seeing him.  This Draco was no cold, snide, dignified Slytherin snob.  His robes were torn and his breath was coming in gasps, as if he had been running.  His face was smeared with blood from a gash above his eye, and his right arm hung at an unnatural angle, broken.  His eyes were wild, their whites showing clearly.

He shuddered to a halt, his limbs trembling with exhaustion and excitement.  He looked at them, then to his father, sprawled lifeless on the stone floor, then back to them.

"You killed him!"  He accused, breathless and shocked.  He gave a strange high pitched giggle.  "You killed him.  Now I have to kill you."  He raised his wand with his left hand.

"Don't be a fool, Malfoy," Ron said disdainfully, "Look at the state you're in.  You don't have the strength to summon an Unforgivable Curse."

Draco hesitated, then unexpectedly, his eyes narrowed and he nodded.  "No.  You're right.  I've lost too much blood."

A small, mad smile began to form on his thin, bloodless lips.  "But there are worse things than death, don't you think Weasley?  If I can't kill you all, perhaps I'll settle for making your lives a living hell...  That might be even better, hmm?"

His eyes darted sharply from side to side, and settled on Harry, who had lifted his head to watch Malfoy with an expression of wearied contempt.  

Draco's face suddenly brightened maliciously, as though he had been struck by an idea.  "How would you and Weasley cope, Potter," he inquired silkily, "If I turned your little Mudblood pet into a mindless lunatic?  One good Obliviate Curse would do it, you know.  She'd never recognise either of you ever again.  Clever little Hermione Granger with her mind wiped clean - the idea appeals to me.  How would you live with yourself, Potter?  Knowing your friend's insanity was the cost of knowing you?  And you, Weasley, if I slated your girlf -"

Then everything happened very quickly.  Ron's wand jerked up and his cry of "_Expelliramus_" cut Draco's tirade short.  But Draco seemed to anticipate the move, and he deflected the spell almost in the same breath as his shout of "_Obliviate Totalus_!"

The spell shot from the tip of his wand, and Hermione watched the purple flash flying toward her, as if in slow motion.  She didn't know a counter Curse.  She was dead, or as good as dead, and she'd never even told Ron that she – 

But now there was something else in her field of vision, a blurred shape, launching into the path of the spell.

A moment later, there was a dull thud, and Harry was lying on the floor.  Draco was grinning manically, and Ron was shouting furious disarming Charms, and someone was crying – Hermione wished they would shut up, didn't they know this wasn't the time for hysterics?

She threw herself down by Harry's side, and rolled him over so that he was looking straight at her.  

Green eyes blinked at her.  His glasses were broken, hanging askew from one ear.  He didn't seem to have noticed.

"Harry – Harry – are you OK?  Do you know who I am?  Harry?" she realised that she was the one who had been crying.  Her voice was choked with frantic tears.

Harry shook his head very slightly, and continued to stare blankly at her.

"Harry?"

But the Boy Who Lived did answer.

He not know his own name.

He was gone.


	3. In Your Arms Again

**III.**

**In Your Arms Again**

Ron was crossing from the family room to the stairwell when he saw the front door start to open.

Frowning, he paused.  The rest of his family was either gathered in the kitchen or not due back for hours.  Who else was expected?

Moments later, a familiar head of thick, red-brown hair appeared, and Hermione stepped over the threshold, tugging at her scarf.  Ron froze, suddenly unable to move or speak.  He could only stare as she freed the awkwardly wound length of knitted wool from around her neck, and began to shrug off her heavy coat.

She had changed, he realised with a shock.  In a hundred tiny ways, she had changed.  Her hair was darker and much longer.  She was taller.  Her face had altered, lost the last hints of childishness.  

And yet… she was still the same Hermione.  Still his Hermione…

He shouldn't have gotten into the habit of thinking of her that way.  They had never spoken of love before he left, though sometimes it felt as though the words had always been there, hovering in the air between them, but never voiced aloud.  Then Voldemort had come, and Harry had been Cursed, and everything had gone wrong…  

He had no right to hope that she might still have feelings for him.  Especially not now, after leaving her alone without so much as an explanation for so long.

But if his two years away had taught him nothing else, they had taught him that his feelings for this girl in front of him were never going to change.  Near or far, richer or poorer, now… and always.

God, but it was heaven and hell to be close to her once more…

At that moment she looked up and saw him standing there in the narrow hallway, just staring in idiotic silence.  Her mouth fell open and her shocked gaze locked with his.

Ron's throat seized up.  He cast about desperately for something to say, but his mind was a blank.  Damn it, he had known it would be hard to face her again, but nothing had prepared him for this.  Obviously he had forgotten the effect she had on him, just by being near.

In the end, Hermione was the first to speak.  

"Ron!" she said, her voice strangely soft and breathless, as if she weren't quite sure she believed what her eyes were telling her.

Ron forced himself to swallow.  "Hey Mione," he managed, his voice just as soft as hers had been.

Silence resumed and neither of them moved.

Then all of a sudden, Hermione made a small sound in the back of her throat – somewhere between a laugh and a sob – and ran into his arms.

Shocked, Ron caught her in a firm embrace.  Hermione's face was pressed against his shoulder and her arms were linked tightly around his neck, and she trembled very slightly, as though she were trying to hold in some overwhelming emotion.  

Ron's expression was one of disbelieving joy as he reached up to stroke her hair.  It felt fantastic against his fingers, exactly the way he had always imagined it.  It was like coming home.

"You … aren't angry...?"  It was half a question, half an exclamation of wonder.

She leaned back in his arms to look up into his face.  Moisture had dampened her eyelashes, but no tears spilled over.  

"I thought I would be," she said softly, her voice thick, "I know I _should_ be.  But Ron, I just can't -  You don't know how I - "

He didn't let her finish.  His lips descended onto hers with a fierce tenderness that stole every ounce of strength in her body, and she melted against him, kissing him back for all she was worth.

"God, Mione – I've missed you so much," he broke the kiss, but didn't relax his embrace.  "I'm so sorry I left like I did.  And without ever telling you…"

He hesitated.  

Still dazed from his kiss, she blinked in confusion.  "Tell - telling me what?"

He took a deep breath.  The words had been spoken in his heart a thousand times.  They were long overdue.  Why was it suddenly so difficult to say them aloud?  

"That I love you," he managed at last, "Have always loved you.  Want to marry you."

There.  Now she knew.  Perhaps she had always known – she was pretty smart, after all.  But he had said the words aloud at last.

There was a pause.

"Marry!" Hermione's voice was soft and breathless, "I -  No.  I'm pretty certain you never did mention anything like that..."  She managed a very small, faint smile, and added, "It's the kind of thing I'd remember."  

 "Well, now you know," Ron wanted to smile, but this was too serious.  She couldn't be allowed to think he was joking when he had never been more sincere in his life.

He hadn't actually meant to tell her this way, but she'd been forced to spend two years doubting his feeling for her.  He suddenly felt he owed it to her to be honest now.

"I love you, Hermione Granger," he said, speaking clearly and softly, staring straight into her eyes, "There's nothing I want more in the world than to be married to you."

Hermione shook her head in shock.  "Ron, who … how …  Married…?  I can't … I don't know what to say to you…"

Now he smiled very slightly, and reached up to put a finger to her lips, silencing her.  

"Then don't say anything at all," he said softly, "I know this is sudden for you.  That's fine.  I hadn't meant to say anything yet, but ...  Well, there you have it.  I know how I feel, and my feelings aren't going to change.  I… I don't mind giving you time to figure out yours."

Hermione blinked.

When Ron had left, he had been a boy.  Just the mention of words like 'love' and 'feelings' had caused him to screw up his face or blush and stutter.  But the sombre-eyed man talking to her now, speaking earnestly of marriage and commitment only moments after their reunion, was almost a stranger to her. 

She looked more closely at his face, and reached up to gently trace the faint lines of weariness and strain she saw there.  

"Ron, you've changed so much…" She whispered, her heart torn between sadness at the innocence he had lost and admiration for the strength she sensed in this man who so resembled boy she had loved.   

She laid her palm flat against his cheek, and was shocked to feel the roughness of stubble.  So much time had been lost…  She raised her gaze, and looked searchingly into his eyes.  

"Where have you _been_?"

He sighed, and slid his hands down her arms to take her hands in his own.

"You know, it really is time I answered that question.  Come with me into the family room.  I'll tell you when everyone's together…  I really don't want to have tell this story more than once."


	4. Resolution

IV

**Resolution**

Ron had never been good at accepting injustice.  

It wasn't that he was naïve.  He knew the world wasn't fair, he had learned not to expect it to be.  But when he was confronted with a situation devoid of sense or justice, he just couldn't let it be.  Couldn't accept it.  It was the way he had always been, and probably always would be.

So when the healer witch at St Mungos had stepped out of Harry's hospital room and begun to speak in soft, sad tones, he had scarcely been able to comprehend her words.

"We've done what we can to make him comfortable, but... he has taken a direct hit from a powerful and uncontrolled Obliviate curse.  I'm afraid his memories are completely shattered.  Permanently.  His eyes can take in images but his mind can't store them long enough to process them.  The damage can not be repaired by any known counter-spell.  I'm … so sorry."

All the Weasleys were present, together with Hermione and Sirius Black, their faces drawn and white with shock.

The effects of the healer's words were not immediate.  For a long, terrible moment, everyone just stood there in the hospital corridor, silent and unmoving.  

Then Mrs Weasley let out a short, choked sob, and everyone was jolted into response.

Mr Weasley put his arm around his wife's shoulders, and Hermione dropped her face into her hands.  Sirius strode forward to argue furiously with the healer, who bore the full force of his angry accusations with all the calmness and patience she could muster.  

Ginny stood amongst everyone, touching no one.  Her eyes were closed, her face pale, and her hands clenching and unclenching by her sides in silent paroxysms of pain.  Bill and Charlie exchanged glances that spoke wordlessly of grief and horror.  Percy reached out to place his hand on Hermione's shoulder in a gesture of comfort, and the twins stood quietly, looking eerily pale and serious.

Ron stood apart from them all, and watched in silence.

A kind of sickly numbness had come over him.  He looked at his family and friends and realised with dawning horror that this was real, and it wasn't going to go away.  

Harry was really gone.  His almost-brother, the last light in Sirius's dark life, his sister's first love, Hermione's best friend…  They were never going to get over this.  They would hover by his bedside, all their joys muted, and they would weep and plead and grieve…  And it wouldn't do the slightest bit of good.

Harry would not even know their names.  Every time they stepped out of his line of vision he would forget their very existence.  He was gone.  'Lost to them.'

And it wasn't fair.  Damn it!  It wasn't _right_.  Voldemort was gone.  Harry ought to be here, they ought to be celebrating their victory at last.

But he wasn't.

But he _should_ be.

It wasn't _fair_.

He wished his mother would stop weeping.  He wished Hermione's shoulders would stop trembling.  He wished Ginny would open her eyes.  He wished Fred would crack a smile.  None of this was helping.  Nothing they could do here would help.

They could and would grieve at Harry's bedside for the rest of their lives and it wouldn't make a damned difference to anything.

There was nothing anyone could do to make a difference.  They were so bloody _helpless_.

Frustration and anger swelled up inside him with such burning ferocity that he caught his breath.  Dizziness overwhelmed him for a moment, but when it cleared, the fire was still there.  

Searing him.  

Driving him on.

He knew at that moment that he there was nothing more he could do here, in these quiet, pain-heavy hospital corridors.

So there was no known counter Curse to an Obliviate spell?

Well, that would have to change.

_Hang on, Harry mate,_ he thought grimly to himself as he turned without a word and strode away down the corridor.  _I don't care what it takes.  You're coming back to us.  I swear to you, I'm not coming back to this place til you can look me in the face and say my name.  Even if I have to climb inside your head and put the pieces together myself.  Just hang on…_


	5. Etai Vilbo, Commemneo Ego

V

**Obliviate**

"…And so I left.  I walked out of that hospital and I set out to find the counter Curse."

Ron stood by the fireplace, his gaze fixed steadily on an open window as he recalled.  He had begun his long overdue explanation to his family with a plea for silence until he finished his story, and so far they had respected that.  He was grateful.  This was not an easy thing to tell.

"…I knew it was going to be difficult, perhaps even impossible.  I knew that hundreds of wizards far wiser and more learned than me had tried and failed.  But I knew I had to do _something_.  I just couldn't stand one more minute of helplessness, of inaction.  But I scarcely knew where to start so the first place I went – and you'll be proud of me, Hermione - was to the library.  I started reading everything I could about the nature of the curse, and where it originated, who developed it… to see if I could accumulate clues as to how it could be combated."

Hermione sat on the arm of a couch in the crowded Weasley family room, watching Ron incredulously.  She still couldn't get over the changes in him.  He was even _speaking _differently.  She'd always known he was intelligent, but he'd never really applied himself at school.  Now he was speaking like a … like a scholar!  

Of course, if he had truly spent the past two years researching a cure for Harry's curse, then perhaps it was no wonder…  She had so many questions for him!  She practically had to bite her lips to keep them from spilling out.  

"…The information was hard to come by in published texts.  So I decided I'd head out and find the most ancient branch of wizards in Britain, and ask for their help.  I found them in Ireland - the Druids.  

They were secretive, and difficult to contact.  When I did manage to get an audience with one, he was suspicious of me and answered all my questions in riddles.  It took a long time to learn that their ancestors had not actually developed the Obliviate curse, but the knowledge of it had in fact come to them from the south, millennia ago.  

So I travelled south, and found myself in Egypt, where the wizards have records dating all the way back to the era of Menes.  When I explained to them what I sought, they were much more forthcoming than the Druids.  They're a scholarly bunch, and my cause seemed to interest them.  I spent almost six months with them, and learned a lot… but made very little progress with the Obliviate Curse."

A small sigh of disappointment escaped Mrs Weasley, and her sentiment was shared by most of the room.  They had promised not to interrupt Ron's explanation with questions, but from the moment he had named his reason for leaving them two years earlier, they had all felt one question burning more fiercely than all the others – _did you manage it - do you know the counter Curse?_  

But Ron was giving nothing away.

"Finally we traced the Curse even further back.  The total Obliviate Curse is a crude and ancient form of magic - very different to refined and specific spells we use on Muggles and the like.  It was developed by the very earliest wizards that ever existed – the witch doctors of Africa.  

So I left Egypt and journeyed south again, arriving in Kenya.  I asked around and managed to locate the oldest tribal wizard still living.  Like the Druids, the Africans were suspicious of me, and wanted to know what my business was with their venerated witch doctor.  Wizard and Muggle societies aren't separate there, you see.  Wizards live within tribes of non-magic people, and are respected by them.  So the people I met were very protective of their aging mystic.  

Finally, someone agreed to take my message to the old man, and to their surprise, he indicated that he would grant me the honour of an audience.  When I was lead into his presence, however, I found the Translation spell I'd been using to understand the foreign languages around me was not sophisticated enough to deal with the ancient wizard's dialect.  He spoke with me for a long time about Obliviate, and how his ancestors discovered and mastered the spell.  I did my best to understand him, but there were some phrases I just couldn't decipher.  

Eventually he said he was tired, and waved me away.  

I knew I was close now to unlocking the secret of the counter Curse, but there was no way I could get another meeting with the old doctor and it probably wouldn't have helped anyway.  I returned to my friends in Egypt, and resumed my study of a much-expanded pile of research notes and findings.  

It was so frustrating, knowing that I was so close and at the same time so far from uncovering the answers.  There were times when I just wanted to give up, wanted to come home.  But I knew I couldn't.  I'd made a promise to myself, and to Harry.  I'd been gone so long, with barely a murmur of explanation.  I just couldn't go home empty handed.  So I just kept at it, day after day, week after week.  

It was almost twelve weeks later that a young buzzard turned up on my window still, with a crumpled piece of parchment in its beak.  As soon as I removed it, the bird flew away.  I wondered why it had seemed familiar to me, but didn't dwell on the thought.  I was too intent on unfolding the parchment, expecting some kind of letter or note.  

Instead it was drawing, etched in charcoal.  In the centre was an uneven sphere, which seemed to be glowing brightly.  Around it were shards of many different shapes and patterns, all spiralling towards the central sphere.  I turned the page over and saw another picture, this time of a complete sphere made up from all the shards.  

That's when I remembered where I'd seen the buzzard before – it had belonged to the old witch doctor.  The drawing was from him.  Needless to say, I began to study the sketch much more intently.  I returned to my desk, and went over my notes again with more enthusiasm than I'd felt in weeks.

I looked over the passages of dialogue which had seemed hopelessly encrypted before, then placed the drawing next to them.  And slowly, bit by bit, things began to fall into place.

See, the everyday Obliviate curse shatters one tiny memory, but leaves the rest of the mind intact.  The uncontrolled, total Oblivate curse just shatters every memory and disables the victim's ability to form new ones.  The victim lives, but they can function only in the immediate present.  The damage is supposed to be irreversible."

At this point Ginny leaned forward in her chair, her eyes unnaturally bright.  Her voice was shaking as she asked with almost unbearable intensity, "_Supposed to be…?_"

Ron looked at her, and gave a very small smile.  Then spoke the words that everyone had been holding their breath to hear:  

"_There is a way to reverse Obliviate_.  But - "

The room erupted into voices, crying and shouting and questioning all at once.  Ron help up his hand and Mr Weasley's voice took on an uncommon note of sharpness as he demanded they return their attention to Ron.

"- _But_ there's no guarantee that it will always be successful," Ron finished.  This won him absolute silence.  He took a deep breath.  

"It works like this.  Every person has one memory that they treasure above all others.  One golden moment that is always with them, that they never – _never_ – forget.  If someone else shared this moment with them, then this person and this person only has the power to repair their mind.

They must chant a special incantation over the afflicted wizard's bedside, and focus intensely on the moment they shared.  The words of the spell are simply the reverse of Obliviate – _Etai Vilbo, _repeated over and over, together with the Latin phrase _Commeneo Ego: _'remember me'.

If the caster has guessed right, and the moment they recall really was the most treasured memory of the afflicted wizard, then a sort of - magical magnetic field forms around the glowing core of that memory that is formed by their linked minds.

The core… draws together all the fragments of the wizard's memories and they begin to repair themselves.   When the reformation is complete, the Obliviate Curse is countered.  The wizard's mind totally regenerates, and they remember everything - from the moment of their birth right up until the present."

"The downside of all this," Ron continued, his expression twisting slightly, "Is that the spell can only be performed three times.  If it is cast three times and fails each time, it is rendered useless.  And the risk of failure is high.  Besides the technical mistakes that may be incurred by casting an unfamiliar spell, there is the uncertainty surrounding the selection of the right memory to focus on.  There is _only one_ which will work the magic.  It's possible that no one shared the memory – it's possible that Harry's most treasured memory is of a moment he spent alone, or some poignant moment he shared with a stranger.  It may be of his parents.  There are a hundred possibilities – a hundred things that could go wrong."

This pronouncement was met with a long moment of sobering silence as they all considered the implications of failure.

It was Hermione who spoke first.  "Well… we have to try, don't we?"  She looked around at her surrogate family, her eyes slightly pleading.  "It's the closest we've come to having _hope_ in almost two years…"

At her words, Percy seemed to shake himself.  "Of course we have to try," he said firmly, taking charge like the Percy of old.  "There's no question of that.  In fact, I propose we go to St Mungo's right away.  There's no point in waiting, is there?  And if there's three chances to discover Harry's most treasured memory, then we will give each of those closest to him one chance.  Ron, you should try first.  Then you, Mr Black.  And if there is still no effect then Hermione can try."

He looked around, peering over the top his glasses.  "Is everyone agreed?"

One by one, everyone nodded.  Hermione looked terrified, Sirius determined, and Ron resigned.  Ginny stared at the floor, but she too inclined her head in acquiescence.  

Those who could Apparate did so.  The others lined up at the fireplace with Floo powder pinched between their fingertips.

A few minutes later, a small crowd had gathered in the corridor outside Harry's room.  They all looked at one another, tense and uncertain and almost torn in half by conflicting feelings of fear and hope.

Then Ron took a deep breath, and opened the door.

He disappeared into the dimness of the room.

The others held their breaths, and waited.


	6. Ginny's Secret

**VI.**

**Ginny's Secret**

Five minutes dragged by.  They were the longest five minutes of Ginny's life.  She wanted to pace, but Sirius was already doing so and was he taking up most of the corridor.  She wanted to be by Harry's side, but she knew that was impossible right now.  She wanted – she wanted that door to open and she wanted to see Harry on the other side, smiling at them all.  Recognising.  Greeting.  Remembering…

It was her ultimate fantasy these days.  Her deepest wish.

That he would _remember_…

The door opened.  Everyone's heads snapped up, their gazes fixed intently on the widening arc of the opening door.

Ron stepped out, and the expression on his face told them all they needed to know.

A quiet sigh of bitter disappointment whispered through them as everyone released the breaths they had been holding.

"I thought of the moment when he won the match against Slytherin for us, back in third year," he said dully, "He was really happy then.  I think it meant a lot to him… but it didn't work.  Sirius, you want to try next?"

Sirius's pacing had halted the moment Ron had emerged.  Now he nodded apprehensively, hesitated, then strode forward, closing the door behind him.

Silence fell once more.  Ginny turned her face away and closed her eyes.

Ron had failed.

Harry was still lost to her.

How could it possibly hurt this much, even after so long?

She wasn't sure whether to be grateful or wistful about the fact that no one was aware of how deep her pain truly ran.  They all thought she had gotten over her little first year crush years ago.  

In a way, that was true.  She _had_ grown out her crush – long since.  She had gotten over the silliness of blushing, giggling, and drawing love hearts in the margins of her books.  She had lost interest in the Boy Who Lived.  And instead, she had discovered Harry James Potter.  An ordinary, fallible guy with messy hair and glasses.  A guy who was clueless and vulnerable, but brave and good.  A friend.  And that was when she fell out her crush - and fell in love.

It was a different feeling to anything she had felt before.  For one thing, it was easier to hide.  Instead of an irrepressible and awkward infatuation, she now nursed a quiet, dark, bittersweet secret that she had carried deep inside her for almost seven years.  

Perhaps some of her family still suspected that she had feelings for Harry.  She was fairly certain her mother did, and Hermione too.  They both possessed keen intuition, and it was difficult to hide these things from other women.  But no one knew for _sure_ what she really felt - she'd learned from her past mistakes, and made sure of that.

And it was certain that not one of them, not even Hermione, had suspected her most closely guarded secret of all…  The secret that was now tearing her apart.  

Should she say something?  Should she stay silent?  Did she dare to even consider that her most precious memory had meant as much to him as it had to her?  How would she live with herself if she were wrong?  And how would she live if she said nothing, and all the others failed…?

The door opened again, and this time Ginny jumped, startled.  She had been so deep in thought that the time had seemed to pass twice as quickly as before.

She looked into Sirius's face, and felt the miserable ball of despair and indecision tighten in her stomach.

He had failed too.

He didn't say anything.  He just gestured to Hermione, ashen faced.

Hermione looked like she was about to faint.  She knew she was their last hope but her mind was going to pieces - she scarcely knew which memory she should use.  She loved Harry like the brother she'd never had, but …

She felt everyone's eyes upon her and forced herself to step forward, toward the open doorway.

"Wait!" 

A harsh, desperate cry from behind brought her to an abrupt halt.  She turned to see Ginny standing a few feet away, her face pale and drawn, her eyes bright with tortured intensity.

"Let – let me try.  Please."

There was a long, awkward pause.  In the end, Ron was the only one with the courage to break the terrible silence.  

"Uh, Gin," he said softly, his expression slightly contorted by a strange combination of gentleness and pain, "You know it has to mean something to him … not – not just to you."

Ginny swallowed hard, and waves of colour washed over her skin as humiliation and fear crippled her.  They all thought she was just some sad little child mooning pathetically after a boy who was never going to give her a second glance.  It was the reaction she had expected, but it still hurt.  Oh, how it hurt.  And perhaps they were right.  Perhaps she was pathetic.  Perhaps she was wrong to put herself forward now, to impose herself and her delusions on such a crucial moment. 

But then, they didn't know what she knew.  They didn't know that once, just once, there had been a moment when he _had _looked twice…

She couldn't meet anyone's gaze.  She knew what she would see there: Pity.  Resignation.  Concern.  Guilt.  She couldn't deal with any of that.  Instead, she lifted her chin, looking at no one, and steeled her resolve.  

This was what it meant to be in Gryffindor, she realised.  These next few words were going to be the hardest of her life, but she was going to speak them.  And then she was going to have to deal with the consequences.

"I know that," she said, her voice surprisingly steady now.  "I still want to try."

There was another long pause as ten sober faces considered her.  Then Hermione stepped back from the doorway, giving Ginny free access.

"Good luck, Ginny," she said softly.

Ginny risked a glance at Hermione's face.  To her astonishment, she saw there were tears in her friend's eyes, but she was smiling slightly.  Then Ron moved into her field of vision, and put his hands on Hermione's shoulders.  His mouth quirked into a tight half-smile.

"Yeah, Gin," he echoed, "Good luck."

Ginny had never felt more like hugging anyone in her whole life.  But circumstances being as they were, she settled for sending them both a trembling smile of gratitude. 

Then she turned to the doorway, swallowed dryly… and stepped through.


	7. Harry's Destiny

**VII.**

**Harry's Destiny**

With hands that shook, Ginny closed the door behind her.

She blinked, her light-accustomed eyes taking a few moments to get used to the dimness of Harry's room.  Everything looked much as it had for the past two years.  The simple furnishings, the gentle lighting, the fresh flowers Mrs Weasley insisted on leaving on the windowsill.  The single bed, and the figure sitting serenely upon it, propped up against a mountain of pillows, his features set in heart-breaking blankness.

He looked up when she entered.  "Hello," he said pleasantly, but without a shred of recognition.

"Hello Harry," she said quietly, her voice catching in her throat.  But he didn't notice that.  He looked away, and she knew that he had forgotten her presence and would not recall it until he looked back in her direction.

Fighting back familiar sensations of frustration and despair, she sat down on the chair by his bedside.  Harry's face was turned away from her as he examined the pattern carved in the skirting boards with the all interest of one who was noticing it for the first time.  Which of course he was - every thing his gaze fell upon was new to him.

Suddenly changing her mind, Ginny stood up again, and re-seated herself on the edge of his bed.  Harry felt the bed dip and turned his head, his glazed green eyes wide with surprise.  Ignoring this, she reached out and took his hand in hers.  He didn't pull away – he just watched her with an expression of mild bewilderment.

For a moment she simply stared at him, gripping his much larger hand in both of hers.  Remembering…  But the blankness in his gaze tore at her, and the slackness in his expression clashed harshly with the vision she always saw in her mind's eye when she thought of Harry…  The image of a fiercely determined young man, his expression set, but his eyes bright with intensity and feeling.

She closed her eyes, shutting out reality to lose herself in her memory.

Everyone had known that Voldemort was coming.  That Hogwarts was under attack.

There was chaos in Gryffindor Tower as everyone scrambled to collect a few of the possessions most dear to them, then retreat to the dungeons where Professor McGonagall and the other teachers were marshalling students in terse, sharp voices.

Unconcerned with belongings, Ginny's first reaction had been to scan the common room for Harry's face – an action that came so naturally to her it was practically instinct.  

And as her eyes located him, their gazes locked.  

It was not the first time that she had caught him watching her.  In recent weeks it had become a frequent occurrence, but she had not idea what to make of it.  Usually he had just seemed a little embarrassed at being caught staring, and turned his head quickly away.

Tonight he did not.  

Ginny swallowed hard, but forced herself to hold his gaze.  While pandemonium reigned all around them, they alone stood motionless - two islands of stillness on opposite sides of the room, holding out against the flood.

Then Harry had approached.  Ginny stepped backwards into a small alcove, so that they could stand together without impeding the flow of students dashing backwards and forwards.

"You should be in the dungeons," he had said, his voice low and oddly intimate.  Ginny shivered slightly.

"So should you," she returned softly, and to her surprise her voice held steady.

"I'm not going to the dungeons," he said, calm and determined.

Ginny nodded mutely and looked down, biting her lip.  Somehow she had already known what his response would be.

"You're going to face him," she spoke in a dull undertone.  It wasn't a question.

"I have to," was his simple, resigned reply.  "I'm the one he really wants.  And I'm the only one who stands a chance."

She still couldn't look at him.  Her heart was pounding painfully against her ribs and she felt sick with horror at the thought of what he was going to face.  At the thought of losing him.

Suddenly he spoke again, his voice charged with a strange intensity.  "Look, Ginny, if I don't come back - "

That got her attention.  Her head snapped up, her tear-brightened eyes wide with pain.  "Harry, don't even - "

"No, Ginny, please – let me finish."  His green gaze seemed to burn now, and she couldn't look away.  "If I don't come back, if something happens to me…  If I face Voldemort tonight and realise that I have to die…  I don't want spend my last moments regretting the things I left unsaid.  I don't want to be thinking, 'I never told her, she doesn't know, and now she'll never know.'  Because I – I want you to know..."

He was stumbling, making no sense.  Ginny looked up at him confusion.  "Know… know what, Harry?"

He seemed to hesitate, and ran a restless hand through his unruly black hair.  

"I – that I -  Well, this," he said at last, and without warning, he cupped her upturned face in his hands and lowered his lips onto hers.

Every second, every detail of that moment was seared into her memory.  

When he finally lifted his head again, Ginny simultaneously felt incredibly weak and utterly invincible.

Her eyelids fluttered open, only to focus on Harry's face, still only inches from her own.  He was looking down at her with a strange mixture of expressions on his face, each of them tugging her heart in different directions – tenderness, wonder, seriousness, and the faintest hint of a smile.

"Remember me, Ginny," he said softly, "Remember that…  Because you know I'll never forget."  And with that, he dropped the lightest of kisses on her forehead… and turned away, to face his destiny.


	8. Remember Me

**VIII.**

**Remember Me**

Almost lost in her memories, with tears streaming down from beneath her closed eyelids, Ginny could scarcely form the words of the charm that Ron had taught her. Her lips moved as if of their own accord as she murmured desperately, over and over, "_Etai Vilbo…_ Remember me! … _Commemneo Ego… _Remember me… _Etai Vilbo, Commemneo Ego, _remember me …"

Over and over again, she felt his lips moving sweetly over hers. Felt his hands warm on her face. Heard his voice as he spoke his short, intense goodbye. Watched him walking away from her…

Without opening her eyes, she leaned forward and pressed her lips and then her damp cheek against the back of his hand. She felt no response from him. 

At that moment she knew, in the darkest corner of her mind, that she had failed.

Guilt, grief and despair overwhelmed all her senses. Softly, she began to sob, her shoulders heaving gently as her tears trickled over the skin on the back of his hand and soaked into the sheets.

She wasn't aware of time passing – she didn't know how long she had been crying when she heard, somewhere on the fringes of her consciousness, someone speaking her name.

"Ginny…?"

She assumed that it was Ron, come to lead her away from the scene of her failure. How was she going to face her family? She could scarcely bring herself to care. Nothing really mattered now. She had failed, and all hope was gone.

Slowly, with a heart that felt like a black lead weight in her chest, she raised her tear-stained face. 

Harry was still looking at her, his expression unchang…

But suddenly her heart leapt into her throat. His expression…

There was a small furrow between his eyebrows which surely hadn't been there before. His eyes were fixed on her… really focusing, with no hint of vagueness… 

She looked away to glance quickly around the room. Ron was nowhere in sight. Who had called her name…?

"Harry…?" She looked back into his face, her heart pounding painfully and her eyes searching, pleading… hoping against hope for a sign of recognition. "Harry, do you know who I am?"

His forehead creased, and for a long moment he just stared at her. Her heart contracted sharply, and sank bitterly in disappointment.

And then he spoke again.

"Ginny…"

For several seconds she could do nothing but stare. Her breath came in shallow gasps. He was back, he knew who she was, he was – going to touch her, oh dear God…

"You remembered…" he whispered, bringing one hand up to caress the side of her face. 

Ginny closed her eyes and pressed her cheek into his palm.

"You did tell me," she said huskily, her eyes stinging with fresh tears, "Never to forget."

He smiled at her in a wondering sort of way, his green eyes bright with tenderness. "I know I did. I – I _remember_. Thanks to you. It _was_ you, wasn't it? You who called me back?" His forehead creased again as he recalled. "For the longest time, there was just… nothingness… and then suddenly there was… something. A pull. And it got stronger and stronger. Everything was … moving. Colours swirled and came together. Pictures were forming. I knew who I was again. There were faces in my mind - people that I knew, things that they'd said… It was all starting to make sense again. But everything was still flying, still coming together, all of it centred around this... pull... which kept on dragging me closer and closer until suddenly… there was you… standing in front of me, exactly like you were on that last night… and the whole memory was there. That's when the swirling around me just stopped, because all the tiny fragments were back in place. I remember - everything. And it was you, wasn't it. You who called me back. You were that pull that I felt."

Ginny grinned and blushed slightly. "I - it wasn't really me. It was Ron who discovered the counter-Curse. He searched for two years before he found it… Harry, it's been awful - But you're back, you're really back, aren't you?"

Her eyes searched his, brimming with tears again, and with a tender smile he reached up and brushed them gently away with his fingertips. Then he dropped his hand and sat up to swing his legs over the side of the bed so that he was sitting beside her.

"Two years…" he mused quietly, sounding incredulous, "So much time, lost... That makes me nineteen, then. And you're eighteen - " He turned to look at her, then grinned. She felt giddy with joy at the sight. _Harry's back, he's really back…_ It would take some getting used to, and she was going to relish every moment.

"You look just like I imagined you would," he told her, a little shyly as he put out his hand to stroke a fiery strand of hair back from her face. She couldn't bring herself to ask him what that meant, whether it was a good or a bad thing. At his touch, her throat seemed to have closed over entirely.

"Did you miss me, then, Ginny?" he asked quietly, when she refused to look at him.

Ginny was suddenly struck with the certain knowledge that she was dreaming. This was all too wonderful, and far too surreal to really be happening. So with the recklessness of someone who knows they will be waking up at any moment, she lifted her gaze and met his directly.

"When you kissed me that last night at Hogwarts – couldn't you tell what I was feeling? Wasn't it obvious? You must know that I love you… That I've always loved you… How can you ask me if I missed you? Harry, life without you is… I just can't…" She broke off as he placed a gentle finger against her lips, and the look in his eyes nearly stole her breath away.

"It's OK, Gin," he said softly, smiling in wonder, "That's all I needed to hear. That's all I'll ever need to hear. I love you too, you know. I don't know when I started exactly, but for weeks before that Curse was placed I nearly drove myself crazy trying to work up the courage to tell you how I was feeling. Crossing the room to talk to you that night was possibly the most terrifying thing I've ever done, confrontations with the Dark Lord included. But I don't regret it..."

Ginny found her voice. "No - neither do I," she whispered, and smiled up at him.

He smiled back, then stood up and offered her his hands. She took them unhesitatingly and he pulled her to her feet. Just for a moment he paused, as though unsure, then he pulled her closer still.

She entered his embrace without resistance, pressing her body against his and linking her hands trustingly around his neck.

There were no words as he lowered his mouth to hers, and they shared a long sweet kiss of joy and longing.

"_Right_." The voice from the doorway startled them both, and they leapt apart, both blushing guiltily.

Ron strode into the room, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression thunderous. "_You_, mate," he said darkly, addressing Harry from beneath lowered brows, "Have got a _lot_ of explaining to do."

Just for a moment, Harry was genuinely worried by Ron's reaction.  Ginny was his baby sister, after all, and he had always been protective of her… Then he noticed a familiar twinkle dancing in his friend's eye.  His concern fell away and he grinned widely.

"Ron," he said simply, giving a nod of acknowledgement.

"Harry," Ron reciprocated, now trying to keep his own grin under control, "Good to have you back." He put out his hand and Harry shook it firmly. Neither of them was able to suppress the joy on their faces now, and the look they exchanged spoke all the words that would never be voiced aloud.

"_Harry_!" Hermione had entered the room only moments after Ron, followed closely by Sirius and all the Weasleys.  And suddenly Harry was surrounded by people shouting and crying, slapping him on the back and hugging him tightly in excitement.

He accepted their attention with enthusiasm and happiness, but his gaze was continually drawn back to where Ginny was standing, a little apart from her family, with a very tiny smile on her face.

He wanted very much to know what she was thinking.

Then she caught his eye, and her smile widened, illuminating her face and taking his breath away...

...And he realised he didn't have to wonder at all.

THE END.


End file.
